


For The Love

by Pazmobulus



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Human, Awkward Flirting, Connie and Gavin are friends, Explicit Language, F/F, Female Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Female Upgraded Connor | RK900, Hurt, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, US Legalization of Same-Sex Marriage, trigger warnings in the notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:29:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22544815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pazmobulus/pseuds/Pazmobulus
Summary: Connie and Gavin run a coffee shop in NY. Connie loves the place and does not like bookkeeping. When she meets her almost complete doppelgänger, though, all of the above kind of ceases to matter.
Relationships: Connor & Gavin Reed, Connor/Upgraded Connor | RK900
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	1. Sunlight and Curls

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warnings: hospitals, cancer, character death.  
> 

There was nowhere to hide from the bright light bathing the room in warmth through low sill windows. A cartoon pastel colour unicorn painted on the door with acrylic cast a shadow on the floor in the middle of the room but didn’t do anything to make the sunlight bearable. Curtains shade was enough to not get blind at least while standing behind the counter. Everybody needed coffee, Connie needed money… to invest and get more money to cover the mortgage on the house and this place. It was as good a business as any. People came and all you could see was a glowing silhouette as if an angel blessed the coffee-shop with their presence. 

Gavin took a break for a smoke in the alley behind the narrow facility and Connie stepped in, taking a break from bookkeeping. She fucking hated bookkeeping. The place had been open for over a year. Soon, she thought, they could afford a real bookkeeper. 

The tiniest doorbell they could have found back in 2013 chimed gently announcing a new angel descending. She smiled and took orders. So much better than the goddamn papers. Sadly, Gavin’s break was over too soon. The moment he entered the main room, the bell chimed again and he beamed at a new client. A warm wide welcoming smile, like they got blessed right back. He was a natural. 

With a heavy sigh, she was on her way to her duty of the rest of the staff she had never hired when her partner slash bartender caught her wrist. Connie turned back to see what the hell he was doing. In this short second, her mind went through every possible situation that might have occurred: from a Health Inspection Services assault to a robbery. The former was more likely to happen. She tensed up and got ready for anything. 

Just to be rendered speechless looking at an almost copy of herself. 

The client was as shocked as she was. She stilled and gawed at Connie wide-eyed, apprehension clear on her pale face. 

Her eyes were stormy grey and she was a little taller than Connie (heels, perhaps?). They had similar cheekbones, although the chin and nose of the client were a tad sharper. Unruly curls bounced springily covering the top of her head, one falling on her forehead touching an eyebrow. Her temples were cut so short, one could think they’d been shaved and then grew back to this. 

Connie had her hair cut quite short (for a girl?) as well. Hers was just a bit wavy and lay smoothly, covering the back of her neck and the top of her ears. She too had a lock that would never obey to be combed back with the rest of it. They were mirroring each other with those strands to their brows.

Their clothes were different, naturally. Connie preferred a smart casual white shirt and dark loose slack pants. To suit as, you know, kind of their work uniform at the same time allowing them to wear what they were comfortable wearing.

The curly-haired copy was wearing a dark blue tank top with an acid pink undershirt. From her neck, sunglasses hung on a leather-like string.  


Nobody could tell how long they had been staring at each other. The next moment she remembers was Gavin clearing his throat. 

Everything came back to action. Smells, car signals and people chatter from the outside, people at the counters facing walls moving and clinking their cutlery around, Gavin stepping from one foot to another. «Should I, like...» he trailed off nervously, his smile a tad tense. Connie fixed him with a don’t-you-dare-move look and turned to the almost copy with a trademark smile, «What would it be today, miss?»

The client drew herself out of the haze as well, and her lips twitched up hesitantly, like, not really smiling but kind of making an effort to appear nice? Her eyes flickered between the menu behind them and Connie's face. Connie felt studied. Not intrusively, the menu required the client’s attention to order finally and unawkward the situation. Not very suddenly to herself, Connie felt a ping of jealousy.

«An Americano, black with currant leaf syrup, please,» voice a tad lower than Connie’s.

«Sure!» chirped Gavin, «Anything else?»

After he got a «no, thank you», Gavin took off making the said coffee right away. She couldn’t blame him. It was indeed awkward. 

Connie coughed a little to check how it, that speaking process of yours, goes. «Do you want it to go or…?»

«Oh, shit, Con… er… boss, I forgot to ask,» Gavin was back quickly looking guilty and cute. And looking into his eyes at moments like these, everybody could forgive him anything he might have fucked up.

«I would like to have it here if…» with a got-it, Gavin was off to coffee making, «you could maybe, join me?»

Connie blinked, «Eh, it’s…»

«It’s not like every day you meet your doppelgänger,» she cut in quickly. Rude. But then again, as if like, shyly at the same time, too.

It wasn’t surprising or anything. Connie herself couldn’t come up with an idea of what to do. Ask for her number? Pick her up after work? Ask her name, maybe for starters, yeah? Wouldn’t it be considered invasive or unethical? Agh! Making first steps sucks so much. So, she just decided to roll with what was going on. And that was to walk around the bar counter and join the almost copy at the place she chose to sit. 

No heels, btw. Just taller. Huge military-looking boots were black and shiny, with the same acid pink colour laces as her underwear top.

Gavin was quick with the coffee. The steam above the cup was prominent in the bright sunlight. Connie saw him giving them a supposed-to-be-stealthy once over before he put the coffee down between them, saying, «Careful, it’s super hot.»

With a too innocent expression, he left them to it, stepping back behind the bar. The bell chimed, people entered. Everybody was about their own businesses. 

The almost copy was sitting half-turned to Connie tentatively holding the hot cup with her fingertips. Connie blocked her from direct light beams, sitting straight, body turned fully towards the curly copy. Gotta ask the name. After all, they are already sitting together. Like… er… 

As opposed to Connie, she didn’t have any moles or birthmarks on her face. She had an old nasty scar along her cheekbone. It was there as though to emphasise the cheekbone, making it longer and sharper. She imagined touching it, burning her fingertips as the curly Connie was now burning them against the cup.

«Constance?»

«Eh, what, again?»

Connie, get your shit together.

«Is Con short for Constance?»

So, she pays attention then.

«It’s Connie. Hi!»

«Yeah,» she took a careful seep. Then one more. Keeping her eyes on the drink, she exhaled in the cup, raising another swirl of steam into her face, then stared into the emerald green wall in front of her, blinking slowly a couple of times.

«And you…»

«Do your eyes fog up when over a hot drink?»

She lowered her eyes closer to the cup, blinking a couple of times more absentmindedly.

«Mine do.»

Well, now Connie was confused about what to say or how to act.

«No, mine don’t,» Connie said. «Look, I have things to do…»

«Places to be, right. What kind of music are you into?»

No pauses, no breaths taken.

«I’m really sorry, miss, but…»

The curly one turned fully to face her, and her expression was all it took to stop the thought. «Would like to go out with me?»

There was a break in the background music and the words were loud enough for the small room. Gavin caught her eye with a weird expression, arms stilled above the coffee grinder with a pack of beans. But then grinned and wiggled his eyebrows like an imbecile he was.

To her annoyance, Connie’s bartender slash partner slash best friend knew all too well about her private life not to encourage her to accept the offer. 

So, yes, she agreed to be picked up after the shift by a strange woman who she had seen for the first time in her life and who looked almost exactly like her. Because you can’t consciously harm somebody who wears your face, right? 

And who else is ever going to tell her that their eyes can fucking fog up?

They went to the club. God, it’s been a while. The music was good though. The company — better. Curls — she was going to call her that because for some unknown reason the name issue had been never brought up again since the coffee-shop. So, Curls hardly ever took her eyes off of her the whole night. They danced and drank a little. The dancing was enough to get Connie to the level of high she counted on. The eyes shined at her, changing the tone with the laser lights. A smile touched her face in the most charming way — only lifting one side of her lips at a time, and only when Curls caught her watching again. The moves were smooth and went with the beat as if she knew exactly what the DJ was going to do next and for how long. They barely once brushed their hands together the entire time. Just smiles, moves, eyes and the beat.

Curls smoked. The cigarette in her fingers looked so delicious that Connie remembered high school and was just this little about to try and start smoking again herself. Whether the long fingers were to give the credit for it or the combined aesthetic longness of things held and holding -- she didn’t know. The only thing she was aware of was that she wanted to be closer to it, to be a part of it and maybe a little bit dissolved by it at the edges.

That was how she found herself in the arms that looked so much like hers, looking so closely at the face like in the mirror.

«I want to kiss your eyes...»

«I want to touch your scar...»

It really burned her fingers. A strip of artificially smooth scar tissue. Like plastic. She wondered if it would light her lips on fire too. So she went for it, and it did.

«I want to feel your hair...»

«I want to kiss my lips...»

They laughed at that so hard, it was ridiculous how little it took.

To no surprise at all, they ended up stumbling over the threshold of Connie’s apartment.

«I want to…»


	2. Rainbows and Unicorns

«I want you to move in with me,» was said a couple of months later.

The sun was present again. Although its rays were soft in the morning, filtered through a beige bobbin net, washing the room in gold. Ricci’s fingers were soft in her hair. Her lips were softer on her forehead hairline. Her skin was silky and warm under Connie’s fingertips where they barely touched. The blanket over them shined through in the morning light, painting their skin in warm colours. Flaws here and there were dear and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

October was nigh, and with it were winds, and probably they were going to say goodbye to tank tops and thin linen slacks. Saying goodbye to this thing they were having there was harder and harder each time.

Ricci said that her head was pounding and that she would need some time to figure things out.

Ricci actually meant “curls” in Italian.

The following week was marked by constant background anxiety and loss of appetite, Connie reckoned, because of the former. But she had the mortgage to think about, so the work continued, bookkeeping sucked. Gavin had been the only ray of sunshine. He had never bugged her on the matter of her relationships. Nor did he this time. Connie loved the man. None of those ‘how are things with [girlfriend’s name]’, no ‘when’s what’. He valued his job and loved her back like a brother, despite being single for almost half a year. She respected his private life as well. The mere idea of setting people up cringed her to no end.

In her shop, Connie saw countless stories of falling in love, having a good time together, spiralling down to blaming and abuse, then finally breaking up, divorcing. Some people just stopped showing up at her place at all being triggered by flashbacks.

For 32 years of her life, Connie’s been through enough partnerships. Some of them she’d rather not recall, others were bearable. A few she remembered with warmth and gratitude for how adequate people could be, how loving and understanding, no matter what. Oh boy, had they nasty hangovers after those nights of walking down the memory lane with Gavin. He’d also had his share.

«You gotta know something before we go further,» Ricci said, holding Connie’s hands in hers and running small circles with her fidgety thumbs. «And I have no fucking idea how to start.»

Cold and pale were Ricci’s hands. And from time to time they trembled lightly. Whatever she was going to tell Connie, she had no right to hurry her up. Nor had she the right to throw clichés at her, like ‘no matter what you say... ’ adding a chain of promises. She just held her hands. And then she held her. Her neck felt wet and without a doubt salty too, but she would not have broken the embrace for the world. Her heart ached. And she didn’t know why. The cause was not important. Well, it sure was, but Ricci’s trust was more that. She’d have taken Ricci’s pain to herself if she could, her fears too.

«Can somebody else tell you, please? I can't,» she said, her voice weak, eyes red and nose running.

«Sure.»

The next day, they went to a hospital. A doctor met them at the reception. At the sign above the doors of the ward they walked into Connie’s insides twisted into a knot that she would have to accept in the near future as her constant companion.

Ricci’s MRI scans showed a darkening in her brain that had been already diagnosed as an irresectable tumour. Her first chemo had been appointed at the end of the week.

At some point, Connie’s breath got caught in her throat and she coughed hard for a moment, having to take a tissue from the nearby cabinet. When she withdrew it from her mouth and saw two red droplets, her brain did all the possible conclusions in a fraction of a second. Then it went numb and she started laughing uncontrollably. She couched in her tissue time and time again while throwing her head back. Her crystal light laughter getting rusty.

The doctor’s expression was worth seeing. Ricci had yet to realise what had happened and why Connie got all hysterical.

Connie’s diagnosis was stage II lung cancer. The scan was made a week after they discovered that she stopped liking her favourite food and her cough had to be concealed by red and purple lace handkerchiefs.

By the time she had her operation appointed, Ricci had undergone three chemos and had to move to the hospital. Connie checked in a week before her own surgery.

Asking for a room together ended in flat refusal. Nobody would even listen to any arguments. Family members only. Romantic partners — up for discussion. Two women without any kind of blood or in-law connection — ludicrous.

Well, they would sneak into each other's rooms. Connie — more often than not — would come to Ricci’s room discreetly. A nice lady, Ricci’s roommate didn’t hold any objections. She slept most of the time, and when she didn’t she would smile at them and then scroll something on her tablet. Relatives came to visit Margaret, but only at the weekends or in the evenings for an hour or two.

So, yes, unless or until they were caught by the medical personnel, they would lie in each other’s arms, looking in each other’s eyes, rarely sharing a word or phrase. Under morphine, Ricci would often fall asleep. Her greyish skin felt like parchment. She started losing her hair but didn’t want to shave yet. A couple of curly strands were lying on the pillow between them.

All of this was so ridiculous that Connie would have started laughing like the first time they had been there as if a dull ache of something terrible-about-to-happen hadn’t been living in her chest for some time. And also, she didn’t want to wake Ricci and her neighbour. Sleep is healing, mom used to say. She kept her mouth shut and just lay there. How pretty Ricci was with all these sharp angles: chin, cheekbones, clavicles and elbows. She would never agree to believe it was the thinness of illness.

A nurse came and asked her to go.

Her own chemo started as soon as she recovered from the operation. They made a ritual of shaving their heads together. Gavin came and brought some edible food, and drinks, too. He visited quite often, and by that time Ricci had grown to appreciate him. Margaret joined them for a while before going to sleep again. It was late evening. Connie saw Ricci making the hardest of efforts to stay awake and keep up. She knew she did it for her own sake. To feel a person who’d be able to have fun and participate in conversations. Connie soon scooted Gavin out and held her to sleep.

«Here,» Connie handed him the bag of untouched take-out with a small smile. «Could you fetch the papers of ownership from the safe next time, please?»

«Phck.»

He turned away sharply and stood like that until she put her arms around him from behind. «It’s just in case. I’m here.»

He tangled his arms around hers without saying a word. Just sighing sporadically, holding back his tears.

Some nurse walked by throwing an all-too-well-knowing glance at them. Fuck.

Fuck her! Fuck family members only! Fuck these stupid hospital rules! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

Gavin must have felt her body tense and let go of her arms. She had told him about the attempts to get their own room, but he probably missed the nurse and the look. And he didn’t have to notice either. She sensed how he must have felt and didn’t have the words of encouragement other than she was not going anywhere. She didn’t know if it was true.

Connie got worse, and then she got a little better. Her scans showed clean. She had one more chemo session and then would be discharged having to leave Ricci there. Alone.

They appeared to be unable to contact any members of Ricci’s family. No records were in the base mentioning any of her family.

«It’s for the best,» she said to that and smiled, hugging her closer.

They were lying in Ricci’s swing-bed. Short sparse stubble grew on their heads and they were fascinated stroking each other, feeling small needles under their palms that had gone somewhat numb from all the chemicals burning the capillary vessels in the limbs.

«Curls?»

«Hm?»

«I think I love you.»

«Yeah, me too,» she drew a sigh, though not a heavy one, just a sigh. «I love you too, doppelgänger.»

They looked even more alike now with their hair gone and sharp edges of their bones more visible through their skin.

Connie’s hair started growing back a week after the last chemo — endless IVs washing toxins out of her system — but she stubbornly shaved her head bald.

The food Gavin brought no longer made her sick, and she felt stronger. Pointless. The pit in her gut grew deeper the paler Ricci looked. Until there was an abyss and she started to realise that there was no way it would all end well. There would be no happily-ever-after. No sun waking them up in hot summer mornings. No plans made over steaming coffees. No more curls to thread her fingers through.

One of the last days before her discharge, Connie came into Ricci’s room and carefully settled herself on the edge of the bed where she was sleeping. There was no time to get enough of this. Soon, she would be able to come only at visiting hours. She kissed her scar gently and took her cold hand placing it on her own chest. She had to be strong for her. And she will. ‘Stay there. Fight.’ She wouldn’t say it out loud.

She hadn’t noticed she dozed off until a soft skinny hand she held twitched and got pulled away. Connie’s eyes fluttered open to see the grey ones looking back at her attentively.

«You’re so pretty,» barely audible sounds left Ricci’s lips. «I don’t think I ever told you that.»

Like the sound of autumn leaves rustling. Not even a whisper. A dry hand stroked her cheek down to her lips and chin.

«You did,» Connie said, giving her a smile. «The first day at the club.»

«Ah, yeah. The club.» Ricci’s eyes went far into her memories. «Fuck, you’re hot.»

Connie chuckled, shifted closer and put her arms around her. «I can share.»

They lay in silence for a while. The machines were making their beeps and clicks, morphine dropping in the IV.

Ricci took a long breath and whispered at the edge of hearing:

«Thank you.»

Connie didn’t know what she was thanking her for. She smiled and kissed her lips. Soon, Ricci fell back asleep. Connie stayed. She allowed herself to go grow limp, holding her Curls gently close to her body, thinking, thinking, thinking, until

«Anderson!» The nurse’s strict voice startled her despite not being loud at all. Connie was fast to concentrate on keeping her body relaxed not to wake Ricci. «Please, proceed to your own room now.»

The emptiness of her room was vibrant around her. She didn’t sleep. She imagined hearing Ricci’s breath and her machines beeping softly far down the hall. A good night rest, where she wouldn’t feel pain, and her body would… Stop. Not feeling pain sufficed. Connie breathed in and slowly exhaled. She pretended to have this supernatural hearing she could change settings of. She would be able to drop it all over the hospital like a net and know exactly what was going on to each person, distinguish between patients and staff, their heartbeats would come clear as music rhythm. And tiny intercellular processes she would be able to see with her inner hearing. 

When she focused back on Ricci’s room, she couldn’t hear anything for a moment.

There was a movement in the corridor then. Not hurried. Everything was OK. Except for the sound of Ricci’s breath gone. A flatline rang for another second, then it was gone too.

Connie’s body felt like a stone. Unmovable, solid rock of nothingness.

Gavin came around afternoon. As always, he brought some snacks and fresh coffee. Excited about something, he dropped everything on the bedside table and switched the TV screen on. The room exploded with cheers and shouts from the speakers. All channels broadcasted same-sex marriages legalised throughout the state of New York. Cheerful people, all sorts and types of couples kissing openly in the streets, rainbow flags popping again and again on the screen. The summer came again, she also noticed.

Connie smiled and sipped her coffee.

They allowed her to see Ricci once again in the morgue. Who the fuck would know why — she didn’t quite care. A porcelain white embodiment of perfection was sleeping peacefully on the table.

In a couple of days, a parade was thrown. Streets were full of young and old, and shiny rings exchanged in gold. The coffee shop was packed but almost nobody stayed. Gavin and Connie were running in circles. Greet a client, make a coffee, wash the cups, greet a client, make a coffee, wash the cups, make a coffee, wash the fucking cups, greet new faces painted in rainbows, make a coffee, make a coffee with circles or hearts on the spongy foam, wash the equipment. The bell chimed every goddamn second. And the end of the day was nowhere to be seen. Frankly, she wasn’t looking forward to it anyway. For once, the crowds shadowed the window from the blinding sun.

Blessed sunset came, and all the glitter burst into sparkles in the night lights. They closed at 10. Gavin could hardly move. So, she got him a taxi.

Moving forward through the dance floor like a zombie one step at a time, Connie saw Ricci’s face in the pulsing crowd. The rave place was new and decorated accordingly. The beat was sweet and longing, deep within her bones and tingling in her fingertips. It rocked her body and swung her hips. She would close her eyes and imagine brushes of chill being her very soft unintended touches. She would open her eyes and drown in laser lights, fluorescent bracelets on the wrists thrown into the air, white teeth and whites of eyes full of jubilation. She saw Ricci’s face smiling at her.

«I want to kiss your eyes.»

She danced until the reality blurred and mixed with the memory.

«I want to touch your scar.»

Until her numbness broke and she cried with her eyes open — tears flooded over the edge flickering in the lights on her face.

«I want you to be happy.»

She cried until she had nothing else to shed. Until the mood around engulfed and carried her away; until music completely enveloped her body.

«I want…»

She was afraid to think, so she didn’t. She smiled back to the face from her memory and let her body go with the beat.

«Thank you.»

**Author's Note:**

> This song makes me cry every fucking time right around when Kate sings about shiny new rings.  
> https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=Eb7mt-Vav5A&feature=share  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I9q55wHMEL4
> 
>   
> This fic isn't here to teach or tell you anything. Maybe, just that love is precious in every kind of ways? I hope I wrote it that way.
> 
> Also, if your eyes fog up when you drink something hot, raise your hand. ^^
> 
> Thank you for reading <3


End file.
